


The Crumbling Difference Between Wrong and Right

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean knows the exact moment Sam grew up. Spoiler for 1x18, Something Wicked, mentioned within and underage Wincest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** The Crumbling Difference Between Wrong and Right  
 **Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** R for language and incest.  
 **Category:** (underaged) Wincest, slash  
 **Word Count:** 3, 708  
 **Spoilers:** Spoiler for 1x18, _Something Wicked_ , mentioned within. You have been warned.  
 **Warnings:** incest, underaged sexual situations  
 **Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.  
 **Summary:** Dean knows the exact moment Sam grew up.  
 **Notes:** This originally began as (yet another) prompt from [ ](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[**wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/), but then sort of evolved into what it is now. Also, I have to give a major shoutout to all of the authors who’ve written wee!Wincest, particularly [ ](http://drvsilla.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://drvsilla.livejournal.com/)**drvsilla** , because I’ve been inhaling that shit like whoa recently, and…yeah. See what happens when you people leave me to my own devices?  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean could remember the exact moment Sammy grew up.  
  
He wasn’t quite sure _how_ it happened…one minute his baby brother was playing with Hot Wheels and watching Saturday morning cartoons, and the next he was targeting werewolves and demons with a skill that far surpassed his short thirteen years. He grew quieter, more reflective. _Harder_. Which was to be expected, and what needed to happen in the life they led, but Dean found that he missed that childish innocence, even though he knew neither of them had truly been innocent since That Night.  
  
The only time Sam really seemed to let his guard down anymore was with Dean, and then only when they were alone. Late at night, when he’d pad across the carpeting of their bedroom floor and hover over Dean’s half-awake figure in bed, that simple question burning in his eyes.  
  
Dean would grunt, roll over to make room, and Sam would slip in behind him. Dean would feel the tense muscles of his brother’s smaller form finally grow lax; listen to the sound of Sammy’s breathing even out and deepen until his brother finally found peace inside. In that, Sammy was still innocent. All it took was the reassurance that Dean was still there, and to a lesser extent, that Dad was still there, and all of the world’s problems vanished for fragments of a time.  
  
Dean had lost that luxury the night he’d watched a Shtriga attempt to drain the soul from his brother’s body. He was more aware than ever that every moment he lived could likely be the end, and he generally strove to make the best of that, all clichés aside. Protecting Dad and Sammy came before anything he wanted for himself, but there were times when he couldn’t help but wonder…couldn’t stop the fantasies that secretly shamed him from weaving through his mind.  
  
He figured Freud would have had a field day with his situation. Three men – stuck together with little to no contact from the outside world for long periods at a time.  
  
Dean didn’t count the demons and spirits they hunted.  
  
It was probably textbook that he’d eventually start to wonder, and coupled with the hero worship evident in Sammy’s eyes every time he looked at Dean…well, who could resist that? Particularly when Sam’s awkward and lanky body filled out and strengthened as the years tacked on.  
  
The first time sleeping in the same bed as Sam had given him a hard-on, Dean should’ve nipped it in the bud. Despite his inner monologues with Freud, he knew it was wrong. Brothers shouldn’t feel that way about one another, it wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t want to run his hand along the lean line of Sam’s hip, find out whether or not his brother’s skin felt as baby-smooth as it once had when he’d been in charge of bathing Sammy while Dad was on a run.  
  
The feel of Sammy pressing up against him, as if he were literally trying to burrow _inside_ of Dean, shouldn’t turn him on. He shouldn’t have woken up hard and sweaty from dreams of biting soft lips until they were red and swollen, humping against tender, virgin flesh until it gave way and pleasured him.  
  
But he did.  
  
The moment Dean realized that Sammy – that _he_ and Sammy – would never be the same, was the moment he looked into his brother’s eyes and saw the questions lurking there. The mingled curiosity and desire that tormented him on a regular basis. And Dean knew, he just _knew_ he should’ve said no when Sam asked without words if he could climb under the sheets, shifting his weight from hip to hip as Dean stared up at him, pulse roaring in his ears.  
  
Sam was sixteen now. There was really no reason for it, and they both knew it. And yet, Dean rolled over, staring at the wall as Sam’s developing body slid in behind him, too close. They both were breathing too raggedly to be normal, and Dean shifted awkwardly as the mattress protested beneath the weight of their bodies.  
  
“Dean,” Sam had whispered, and Dean had frozen mid-scratch of his calf. He hadn’t turned around, but he’d answered Sam’s soft question with a grunt. A long moment passed before he’d felt his brother’s fingers coasting down his arm, and then Sammy was cradling against him, sighing into his hair. Dean had felt the brush of Sam’s ridiculously long lashes fluttering at the base of his neck, and had gone immediately and irrevocably hard.  
  
 _Wrongwrongwrong_.  
  
Around a thick tongue he managed to find the words to ask, “Sammy…what’s the matter?”  
  
His skin tingled when lips skimmed along his neck, too faint to be real, but just enough that he couldn’t ignore the sensation. The promise. And then, Sam’s voice, riding the end of puberty to something deep and magnetic in intensity, answered, “I just...”  
  
Dean held his breath, frozen, unmoving as the seconds dragged on.  
  
“Couldn’t sleep,” Sam settled for, a low mutter. His arm tightened around Dean’s middle, and he let out a sigh. “Better now.”  
  
Silence echoed the sentiment, and Dean had swallowed past his heart in his throat as he’d struggled to remain still. Fought not to press back against the warmth that called to him like a siren’s song.  
  
In the end all of his efforts had been in vain anyway, because Sam’s fingers began a slow cruise along his arm, down to his waist, where his large palm had settled low on Dean’s stomach. Dean’s flesh had jerked in response, and he’d bitten back a chagrined groan, voice cracking in the still air as he’d whispered, “Sam, what are you doing?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam had whispered back, pressing the heel of his hand into Dean’s abdomen, fingertips hovering over the cloth that stretched tight across Dean’s rapidly swelling groin. His breath was harsh in Dean’s ear, and Dean had felt both elated and miserable by the turn of events.  
  
Somehow he knew this was his fault. Somehow, Sam had cottoned onto his feelings – twisted and perverted as they were – and was trying to assuage Dean’s guilt by letting him know it was okay. Dean knew damn well how Sam clung to him, knew the depth of his brother’s dependence on him.  
  
It’d taken every ounce of his strength to reach down, cover Sam’s wandering fingers and still them from their quest beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Twisting around, he’d met Sam’s gaze in the dark and shaken his head, a simple “no” falling from his lips.  
  
Frustration had darkened Sam’s eyes. “But I thought…” he’d trailed off, understanding dawning across his features and then he’d leaned in, nose to nose with Dean. “It’s okay. I want this, too.”  
  
Oh, _Christ_.  
  
Dean had opened his mouth, unsure of what he meant to say, but Sam’s lips covered his, awkward and seeking as their noses bumped and teeth clacked together. Dean had let out a low whine – of defeat? Acceptance? Regret? – and then they were kissing hungrily, the sheets tangling around them as limbs flailed and stretched.  
  
And it’d felt so goddamn _right_ , which was impossible. Sam was underneath him by then, and Dean had broken the desperate kiss, staring down at Sam with wild eyes. Mind racing. Sam had licked his lips, and in that instant Dean didn’t recognize the brother he’d helped raise. This was no idealistic child, no defiant teenager. Sam was full grown and knew exactly what he wanted.  
  
Dean could barely recall jumping out of the bed, feeling like someone had slammed a sledgehammer against his chest. He was out of the room in a flash, ignoring the sound of Sam’s voice as he threw open the front door, bare feet finding dewy grass. He’d spent the night in the field that bordered their small home, shivering in the pale moonlight and praying to God Sam wouldn’t follow him.  
  
He hadn’t. And Dean had trudged back inside the next morning, meeting the surprised eyes of his father across the breakfast table. Sam wouldn’t even look at him, and Dean knew what needed to be done.  
  
When his father had casually mentioned a trip to the closest city – which was a good two hour drive away - for ammunitions and supplies, Dean had jumped at the opportunity, surprising both his father and Sam, whose head had finally snapped up to stare at Dean through betrayed eyes. Dean hadn’t let himself look back.  
  
 _Might take a few days_ , he’d said instead, valiantly maintaining eye contact with his father, heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. _We’re out of holy water._  
  
Two hours later, he was driving down dusty roads, a week’s worth of clothing shoved in the back of the Impala and enough money in his wallet to fund whatever the Winchesters needed. The first thing he did when he got to town was find a giggling, willing blonde and take her out behind the nearest building and fuck her until Sam’s face was a blur in his mind.  
  
Not that he actually achieved said goal, but he didn’t think the girl noticed when he moaned out someone else’s name. It wasn’t like he knew hers, or vice versa. It wasn’t until she was gone, disappearing back inside the roadside diner, that he began shaking and wondering what the hell could fix him again.  
  
And on and on it went for days, until the stench of cheap perfume and sex permeated his senses and made him nauseous. By then he was merely postponing the inevitable anyway, so he finally packed up everything and headed back home. Which was where he found himself now, staring out through the windshield as the sun glared off the glass and heated the interior of the car. Dean made an absent reminder to himself to get the AC fixed, and then continued wondering how the hell he was gonna confront Sam when he got home.  
  
 _Something_ had to be said. He could pretend the little heated encounter had never happened between them, and in truth it would probably make things easier all around, but Dean had never been one to back down from a battle. And Sam could be a stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to be, and Dean was pretty damn sure his brother wouldn’t be off somewhere licking his wounds when he arrived.  
  
Which was why the silence ensconcing the house when he walked through the door that night took him aback for a moment. As his eyes began adjusting to the dim light, his ears picked up the sound of a television from the direction of his father’s room. Which meant that his dad was most likely passed out, possibly drunk. Never a good sign.  
  
Nasty guilt began to eat at him, and he hoped that nothing had happened between the other two Winchester males while he’d been away. He was all too aware of the often volatile relationship Sam and their dad shared lately, and without Dean there to serve as a buffer…God only knew the arguments that could’ve taken place. All because he was a pansy-ass who couldn’t deal with letting down a sixteen year-old boy.  
  
He moved down the hallway, feet dragging as he neared the bedroom he shared with Sam. For a split-second, he debated over just sleeping on the couch. Giving himself another few hour’s reprieve. Then again, Dean wasn’t really looking forward to a night of tossing and turning on an ancient sofa that had long outgrown its ability to provide comfort.  
  
Hell, maybe he’d get lucky and Sam would already be asleep, too.  
  
Of course, Dean had never really been lucky, which solidified the moment he opened the door to find Sam spread out on his back across his bed, staring at the ceiling. For long moments, neither moved, and then Sam sat up.  
  
Those eyes watched him in the dark, taking inventory, cataloguing Dean’s every nervous twitch. Knowingly. Lips parted, and Dean braced himself for the torrent of the full-blown Winchester tantrum sure to follow.  
  
“Find everything you needed?”  
  
Dean’s breath came out on a rushed gasp at the unexpected words, calmly spoken like nothing had ever happened between them. Like every moment he’d spent agonizing over for the past _week_ was all some kind of sick joke his mind had cooked up to punish him for his darkest sins. All he could manage was a nod, and a strangled, “Yeah.”  
  
Sam continued to stare at him, and only the faintest pinch at the corners of his mouth alluded to the fact that he was less than happy about the current situation. “Good.” His voice held an indescribable note, but Dean was pretty damn sure of the context when Sam suddenly came to his feet, eyes never leaving Dean’s as he crossed the well-worn carpet.  
  
A flush crept up Dean’s neck when he found himself backing away, desperation taking him by the throat as his back met the smooth wooden door. He recognized the glint in his brother’s eye now; that familiar expression he’d tried so hard to wipe from his memory with too much alcohol and cheap women.  
  
“Sam.” The word was a pleading whisper, begging for…what? Dean wasn’t sure he even knew anymore. Every method of resistance he’d thought he’d mastered during the time apart from Sam had gone up in smoke the minute his brother had looked up at him, eyes filled with hurt and accusation.  
  
Sam stopped a foot away, tension vibrating in the air between them. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and Dean absently wondered if he should worry about protecting himself from more than just Sam’s words. When his brother finally spoke, there was a thread of vibrant emotion weighing down the simple phrases. “You left. Because of me. Because of what we…what _I_ tried to make us do.”  
  
And just like that, Dean Winchester became the biggest asshole to ever walk the planet. His expression crumpled in on itself, body sagging against the door as Sam’s lower lip trembled, reminding him of a time not that long ago when his baby brother would look up at him with similar features. Always needing Dean’s comfort, his reassurance that things would be okay.  
  
 _Dean, I’m scared.  
  
I’ll always be here, Sammy. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here_.  
  
“Sam,” he said again, and a ghost of those memories must have haunted his voice, because Sam’s expression went hard and he closed the distance between them in swift movements Dean couldn’t evade.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed, hand shooting out to gather the material of Dean’s shirt in his fist. Eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. “I’m not a goddamn kid anymore, Dean! Don’t you fucking _dare_.”  
  
His voice broke on the word, and Dean wanted to cry out, _But you_ are.  
  
And that was only one of the reasons why this was a bad idea, why he’d _had_ to leave once Sam’s touches stopped seeking comfort and began searching for something else. Something Dean wanted _ohsofuckingbadly_ , but…no. He couldn’t let himself go there, even for a mere instant.  
  
“Back up now,” he warned, adding some bite to his tone despite the clench somewhere in his middle. His hands came up to rest against Sam’s chest and he shoved, gently at first. Enough to punctuate his statement. When Sam didn’t budge, barely even _flinched_ , Dean refused to acknowledge the perverse thrill that raced down his spine, pushing harder.  
  
Sam just stared at him, lips lifting into a mocking, taunting smirk. “Make me,” he answered, and the quiet words insinuated more than a sixteen year-old boy had any business thinking about, to Dean’s flustered mind. Sure, he’d been an early bloomer himself, but Sam…Sam was _Sam_. Sam was interested in school and research and those ridiculous National Geographic specials about the last maned wolf in Africa. Sam wasn’t interested in the dirty and filthy things that forever occupied Dean’s brain.  
  
Except, apparently he _was_ , because he took that moment to lean in and add, “Did you leave because you liked it, Dean? Is that what it was?” His knee worked its way in between Dean’s legs, and then he was pressing up fully against Dean’s front. Dean sucked in sharply, looking off to the side, unable to meet Sam’s determined gaze.  
  
“I said back off,” he muttered, but the words were shaky and untethered. Swallowing roughly, he focused on the faded striped wallpaper that decorated their room. Torn and curling up in certain places, it was tangible evidence of years spent without change. Without progress.  
  
Dean’s lids fell when Sam breathed against his cheek, hints of stubble scratching Dean’s neck when he buried his face there. “Dean…please…”  
  
And he sounded so much like Dean’s Sammy then, the Sammy he’d held at night when the creatures they slaughtered and the battles they fought finally took their toll. The Sammy who looked up to him as an idol, not this new Sam who looked _down_ at Dean from a three-inch height difference with unreadable shadows in his eyes.  
  
Dean let out a soft sound as Sam’s hands closed over his on the door, coaxing, spreading his fingers out wide. Tangling their fingers together as he shifted to get closer. And Dean let him, breath coming shallow and short. Nothing good would come of this, but he didn’t have the power to resist Sam.  
  
Not like this.  
  
Then…soft, wet heat tickled his skin, and Dean swallowed a groan as Sam’s lips pressed in the curve of his neck, his brother’s harsh breathing a staccato backdrop as they moved against one another. He couldn’t keep his hips from pumping slightly, couldn’t prevent the answering whimper that escaped Sam’s throat.  
  
“Don’t leave,” Sam begged, fingers squeezing Dean’s as he mouthed desperately along Dean’s jaw line. “Don’t leave me…”  
  
“I…I won’t. Never,” Dean promised thickly, every hesitation evaporating as Sam’s lips brushed the corner of his mouth. He let out a sigh as Sam’s nose nuzzled, urging him to tilt his head just enough… “Sammy…”  
  
Sam caught his name with his tongue, drawing on Dean’s hungrily as his own hips ground helpless circles against Dean’s middle. Pressed up against the door with nowhere to go, Dean could only concentrate on keeping himself upright and not coming in his pants like a goddamn nine year-old with his first real boner.  
  
Sam let go of his hands, and Dean reached up and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, catching Sam’s eye long enough for unspoken words to be passed between them. And then, _Christ_ …Sam was lowering himself to his knees, and Dean wasn’t stopping him…hands sliding up and into Sam’s shaggy mass of hair as he bit his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
Sam’s fingers were working jerkily at his belt, and Dean spread his legs, throat working as a thousand reasons as to why this was wrong wrong _wrong_ flew in and out of his brain. And yet, he kept a subtle pressure on Sam’s scalp, fingers twisted in the silky curls so that his brother couldn’t escape. That is, if he’d even wanted to.  
  
The exact opposite was proven the minute Sam got his hands in Dean’s jeans, shoving the denim down his hips and hooking his fingers in the band of Dean’s boxers. Dean’s heart was thundering in his ears, so he didn’t quite catch Sam’s words at first. Lashes fluttering, he glanced down to find his brother staring up at him, a flush highlighting Sam’s cheeks as he waited for some kind of response from Dean.  
  
Dean hadn’t heard the question, but he knew the answer Sam was looking for. The only one he wanted to give. Nodding shakily, he whispered, “Yeah, Sammy,” running his fingers through Sam’s hair, gripping tightly. “Do it.”  
  
The second his brother’s tongue touched his cock, Dean whimpered in unholy glee. Sam sucked gently on the head, tongue swirling and curling around Dean’s overly-aroused flesh until he was no longer holding himself up, but was relying on Sam’s shoulders and hands at his hips to keep him from sliding down the doorframe.  
  
It wasn’t the best head he’d ever received by a long shot, but none of the blowjobs from random strangers over the past few years could compare to the sight of Sam – _his Sam_ – on his knees, mouthing at his cock with the same zest and desperation he showed whenever he sought Dean’s approval over something. Dean realized the sickness inherent in that, but couldn’t bring himself to give a damn when Sam tried to take him deeper, throat muscles gagging around Dean’s length as he backed off, looking up at Dean through apologetic eyes.  
  
“It’s okay, baby,” Dean found himself whispering, emotion hitting him so hard and abruptly that his body began a slow tremble. Words poured out from somewhere inside of him, things he could never say to anyone but Sam. He cupped his brother’s cheek, feeling the slick-slide of his cock within Sam’s mouth with a sort of dazed awe.  
  
Sam held his gaze the entire time, eyes shining with something Dean couldn’t quite put a name to, although he was pretty sure the same expression was mirrored on his own features. When the moment finally came, Dean pulled away on a quiet groan, catching his come in his hand as Sam sat back on his heels, panting and watching him through half-closed eyes.  
  
Dean’s head fell back against the door with a thump, and then he was sliding, sliding…bare ass hitting the carpet as he struggled to think through the blur of orgasm. Before he could speak, Sam was in his lap, tugging on his earlobe with his teeth and humping furiously. Dean held onto his hips as Sam got himself off with soft whimpers and hard thrusts.  
  
“S’okay,” he sighed, soothed, near-to-bursting with love as Sam’s thighs tightened around him, hips pistoning faster, and then he was saying Dean’s name over and over, and Dean caught his feverish cries with his mouth. Sweat mingled with saliva, and they were both messy and wrecked, but Dean couldn’t remember ever feeling more satisfied.  
  
And really, all their issues could wait forever.


End file.
